Chapter 8 : Calm Before The Storm

'My stats were reset…huh? Then there's no point of me even still being here. Let me check them..'

[Name: Klade]

[Class: Dragonhound Blacksmith (Level 1)]

[ATTRIBUTES]

[Vigor]

 Determines HP (hit points) and resistance to physical ailments. Essential for physical resilience and stamina in the exhausting role of a blacksmith.

[Mind: 10]

 Affects FP (focus points), crucial for performing tasks that require precision and skill over long periods, such as blacksmithing.

[Endurance: 13 ]

Impacts stamina and equipment load. Higher endurance is vital for a blacksmith who must handle heavy materials and equipment.

[Strength: 15 ]

 Crucial for wielding heavy blacksmith tools and for improving weapon crafting capabilities.

[Dexterity: 14 ]

 Affects the ability to work delicately and swiftly, essential for crafting finer details in weapons and armor.

[ Intelligence: 10 ]

 Related to the knowledge and understanding of metals and magical materials.

[ Faith: 10 ]

 Plays a part in imbuing spiritual or mystical properties into the crafted weapons according to the lore of Dragonhounds.

[Luck: 10 ]

 Influences the chance elements of discovering rare metals and other materials; alongside creating higher ranked material

EQUIPMENT:

Starting Weapon/Tool: Wooden Hammer (Bronze Rank)

Weapon Profile:

- Type: Regular Work Hammer

- Material: Aged Oak

- Quality: Bronze (Lower Tier)

- Weight: 6 kg

- Length: 0.5 meters (handle)

[Weapon Abilities]

- Forging Strike: Each hit on metallic objects has a chance to drop metallic shards, useful for crafting basic armor and weaponry.

- Heat Retention: Maintains high temperatures longer, aiding in the molding and forging processes.

[Damage: 10-20]

Durability: 70/100  

Special Feature: The Wooden Hammer can create basic weapons or armor from the materials it gathers through its strikes. The power to craft increases with the level of the wielder and the enhancement of the hammer itself.

Klade thought, 'I'm so damn weak. This is lame. But what happened to me? I was for sure thinking I was done for. Whatever. Screw it. I'm on the same level as my real world character, it's pathetic. How can I progress like this? Where's Asura? They just swooped him away and shit. This is annoying! Why am I floating on something? Covered by roses?'

As the river of blood meandered through the landscape of eerie beauty and quiet dread, foreboding figures loomed atop stone monuments and pillars along the bank. These were the Muzhens, grotesque amalgamations of human and fungus, their skins pallid as mushroom caps and speckled with red spots. Their heads, large and bulbous like the tops of mushrooms, swayed ominously as they surveyed the canoes with hollow, dark eyes. Each held a spear, crafted from hardened fungal stalks, pulsating with a dark energy that seemed to suck the very light from the air around them.

Klade glanced at them fast, thinking, 'Level 40 type beings, living in East Helmut where no one dared to go and take quests in. Even though they're not that strong, a bunch of them coming at you and trying to pierce a hole in your face is aggravating. They're known for spreading toxic flora in certain areas, areas they plan to make offspring in. Since that toxin can influence their child's birth to be healthy and powerful, in which they are constantly trying to find a leader for their kind; they're old leader was killed by a demigod in the old game. It's weird, why are they in a place like this? Unless that bastard  family of Rothgar back at castle has something bound to them. It has to be. A promise of a new leader maybe..?'

Abruptly, from one of the advancing canoes, a young man rose. His voice trembled with fear and despair as he cried out into the silence, "Where am I—?" Before he could continue, a dark spear from a Muzhen thudded into his chest. With barely a gasp, he toppled back into the canoe, life extinguishing instantly in a bloom of crimson that melded indistinguishably with the river's own.

Others said:

"No!"

"We gotta leave!"

Klade gritted his teeth, thinking more, 'I don't recognize any of them, they have to be people from the main world that died…right?'

Panic erupted amongst the newcomers as more tried to flee, only to meet the same brutal fate. Each spear thrown was an execution, swift and merciless. Sensing the impending danger, Klade tensed, his instincts screaming for him to run. But a raspy voice from the adjacent canoe cut through the chaos with chilling clarity. "Don't move," it hissed. "Unless you want your head on a bloody pike, brat."

Klade froze. The voice continued, "The Muzhens will finish off those blessed by the deity Elma. She left her power in the old world, at the Tree of Ember, now corrupted by Rothgar's lineage into a tree of immortality that feeds on souls."

"This is Carnage," the voice rasped, painting a morbid picture of their new reality. "An endless world overrun with gods and demons. The afterlife they call it. Tricky bastards. The lords here harvest souls to sustain the Ember Tree and to hunt for the embryo of an avatar child destined to rule this world forever, the Final Descendant of Rothgar they call him. The old gods were slain by Rothgar's royal family. Their scattered essences empower their descendants, who now play at being deities, wreaking havoc across these lands. Mythic beasts, races, and even warriors are all affected by this predicament. I wanna bash all of their heads in."

Klade thought, 'This guy..I can't see him but I can tell he has some sort of grudge against them. But how does this connect to the story from the old game? I don't see any deep correlation…have they always been there from the start? Should I ask him?  And Elma..I remember her. She was the one who gave me Asura when I took that quest.'

Klade absorbed the grim narrative, his mind reeling as he remembered his own encounter with Elma. Her frail form had been almost a wisp, her voice a whisper as she transferred her blessing—an emblem of hope and doom intertwined, now marking him as one of her chosen. As if in response to his thoughts, the raspy voice added a grave note, "The Rothgar descendants have consumed the essence of the gods; they have become the new rulers, dictators of fate and destroyers of the soul. Back in the world of Centurion..they're everywhere. With too much power to handle in a world where those with power try and fight against these fake gods but fail too many times."

Klade said, "I was at the castle..or something. With Rothgar and his little family."

"Don't underestimate those damn fools. And you may think Rothgar is powerful, he's not even the head of the family. But his power is unrivaled around him, but not beyond him."

"So—."

"Shh."

"What…?"

"'Don't get too loud. Those Muzhens are looking over here."

Klade looked to the left and right slowly with just his eyes, seeing the Muzhens stare directly at them.

'Breathe…Klade. Look at me, trying my hardest to live. Do I really wanna stay alive? Guess that's the real me talking. I guess I have to survive, I feel like I'm being led to believe I have a purpose or something, even though that sounds corny.'

Klade had a tear drop from his eye, and he silently sobbed, trying not to be loud. 

'Now that I think about it…screw all of this….I shouldn't have ever been a shut in, never should've been too invested with this game and nothing would've happened to me. It's my fault. I could've tried to protect those players back at the castle, but I froze out of fear…blood on my hands, I can't wash something like this off. I blame myself for it, they would've had a better chance if I would've done something. I never had the ability to stop bullies in school, I always froze, watching others get beat up. And here I am..doing it again. Even in a world where I was the strongest, my own arrogance couldn't even save me?! Dammit. I'm a failure.'

More tears dropped from his eyes, running off of his face.

Klade's middle school years were riddled with memories he'd rather forget. The hallways felt like endless mazes where torment lurked around every corner. Whether in the bustling cafeteria or the quiet corners of the library, he was never really free from the snickers and pointed fingers. His scrawny frame and shy demeanor made him an easy target for the bullies. Watching others suffer the same fate, he remained silent, frozen by fear and helplessness. The internal conflict tormented him, knowing he should stand up, not just for himself but others, yet he was paralyzed, unable to muster the courage.

High school wasn't any kinder. Physical Education was a particular kind of hell for Klade. Every match, every game, he was always the last picked. The moment he stepped onto the field, the air thickened with anticipation of his next blunder. During soccer, he could barely keep up, usually tripping over his own feet while the ball zoomed past him. The laughter that followed his failed attempts to kick the ball echoed mockingly around the field. "Come on, Klade, you're giving free entertainment here!" a voice would shout from the sidelines, followed by a chorus of jeers.

In the locker room, the mockery continued. Boys larger and more athletic than Klade would slap the back of his head, muss his hair, or worse, snap wet towels at him as he hurried to change. His attempts to fight back were feeble and only invited more laughter. "Save it, Klade. You're hopeless," they'd taunt. Standing there, soaked from sweat and humiliation, he'd swallow his retort, fear anchoring his feet to the ground. Klade's social life was a series of missteps and missed connections. Attempts to join conversations were either ignored or mocked for his awkwardness. One particularly painful memory was during a school dance. He had gathered all his courage to ask someone to dance, only to be laughed at in front of a snickering crowd. "Seriously? With you?" the girl had scoffed, turning away to join her friends who erupted in laughter.

As high school dragged on, Klade's confidence dwindled to nothing. He watched, always from the sidelines, as others made friends, won accolades, and thrived. The injustice of it burned within him, but the fear of further humiliation kept him silent. He was a ghost in the bustling life of high school society, seen but not acknowledged, present yet profoundly alone.

Graduation was a relief, a silent slip from the confines of institutionalized cruelty. However, the scars of those formative years lingered. Klade carried with him an overwhelming sense of failure, not just in academics or sports, but in the basic human endeavor of connecting with others.

Back in the present day, Klade sighed, letting his tears stain his face.

'Not here…not here. I'm alive for a reason..I can't lose. I don't WANT to lose. But my own confidence is breaking me down so easily. But on top of that, I want revenge on all of them. That entire royal family from the castle..and all of their other family members. I have to get stronger…way stronger. I'll make it up to those I let die back there…I'll do whatever it takes. That's the only way I'll be able to cope. And I need to get to the bottom of everything, and make it back home, For right now, I gotta distract myself for the time being. I'll ask this guy questions.'

They continued to sail across the stream, and Klade asked the mystery man, "…So..do you have family members?"

'The hell kind of question is that. I always hated starting conversations anyway.'

The man responded, "Yep. A bastard son who has lost his way. And a wife who chose him over me, just because she believed he was always the brightest in the room."

"Oh that's…crazy."

'Crazy was the best word I could think of. I didn't want him trying to blast me away if I said the wrong thing. I'm weak right now.'

More people in the canoes were getting one-shotted with the spears, killing them instantly again as they flipped over the canoe and into the blood water.

'The Muzhens weren't this violent. They often avoided people back in the old world. But ever since this happened…things have changed.'

The man continued, "What about you? Have anybody? A wife? Children?"

"A wife sounds nice, but yeah…um..that's hard to acquire if you were me. But I have a pet named Asura. He's actually my best friend and all that."

"What kind of pet is he?"

"A bloodhound."

"That's rare. We didn't even have them in our own realm."

"Oh yeah?"

"Nope. Heard all of them got wiped out by the demigods, but one survived."

Klade thought, 'Yeah. Asura is the last of his kind. Elma of the Ember Tree nurtured him until he was well enough to be adopted. Elma was the only demigod in the old world who I actually liked and wasn't corrupt by power.'

The dark river, a macabre stream of eeriness and awe, flowed unrelentingly as the procession of canoes carried the newly dead and the mystery-shrouded into the heart of Carnage. The milieu, intense with the thick smell of blood and roses, now bore witness to a more daunting presence. From above, emerging from the smoldering clouds writhing in the tortured sky, descended a creature of awe-striking dread.

As if forged from the heart of a dying volcano, a massive serpent composed of molten lava and magma spiraled downward. Its body twisted gracefully through the violent skies, framed by a smoky, dark orange aura that blurred the line between its form and the air burning around it. Pulsating with an inner glow of gold, its horns jagged and fearsome against the dark canvas, the serpent bared itself in full glory. Its eyes, fierce orbs of glowing gold, pierced the twilight, promising both majesty and destruction.

Each canoe, and its occupants, felt the heavy weight of its scrutiny. The serpent's arrival seemed to still the chaos, commanding silent attention as it wound its way from one vessel to the next. Its hisses, a sizzling melody of heat and anger, sent shivers rippling through the realm of shades and echoes. 

Klade's heart pounded, the bloodlust aura coming from the serpent overwhelmed his entire being, he automatically began to sweat. His fists clenching slowly.

Badump..

Badump..

'Calm down...calm down…'

From another canoe, the raspy voice whispered urgently to Klade, "Be still. It can sense your heartbeat." Klade's breath hitched, the echo of his heart pounding threateningly loud in his own ears. He remembered, as the voice mentioned, how the Ember Tree once thrived on hope and not fear. The deity Elma had imbued her blessings with a power fueled by the courage and will of the living, not the despair of the dead.

The voice continued, "That woman Elma garnered the blessing from the tree to give to those who came to her in hope and not fear. It's the only way the tree would accept them for the blessing, and Elma being the conduit."

"What's it doing..?"

"To see if we're worthy of it. Reading our souls to see if it lived in fear or hope in this world. If it's in fear, the serpent will devour us. But if you have the blessing, you're automatically accepted. But don't move still. Every second counts, every second is fatal."

Klade forced himself to remember his meeting with Elma, the way her presence had been a balm in the wastelands of the dying world. He commanded his breath to slow, his heart to steady, as if he could hide his life's echo from the penetrating gaze of the serpent. Lying as still as the dead around him, he felt the serpent hover above. Its golden eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, the world reduced to the heat of its stare piercing into his very soul.

He could feel its breath, the steam from his nostrils. Klade was itching to move so badly, but he couldn't. The ones around them didn't expect the blessing of The Ember tree to be upon many of these people.

Then, as if satisfied or perhaps uninterested, the serpent continued its surveillance. It swirled upward into the heavens once more, trailing flames and smoke. Below it, the space seemed to tear open; a black ring emerged, an abyss in the sky—a portal or a gateway to deeper darknesses unknown. Through this aperture descended a vision that struck both terror and awe at once.

There floated the corrupted Tree of Ember. Its massive roots and gnarled branches flickered between shades of ominous red and suffocating black. White, glowing chains ensnared it, binding it in a spectral prison, while its leaves emitted a sickly luminance of dying embers. Around the tree, figures clad in white robes, their hair as pale as winter frost, circled in a silent vigil. Runes of gold glowed upon their skin, casting a holy yet eerie light. Their faces were shielded by masks, inscrutable and alien, and in their hands, they held swords crafted from pure, bright light.

Klade thought, 'For right now…the system told me I needed to escape. But how? If anything, I guess I'll start with taking mental notes of everything. First there's the canoe…then the rivers of blood..the Muzhens…the clouds with roses on them and roses fell like rain…the Serpent…and now all of this that's happening…An abyss…and the Ember Tree, former domain of the demigod Elma.'

As the serpent completed its scrutiny and ascended back into the tumult of the sky, the canoes and their cargo of roses and souls approached the Waterfront of the damned Ember Tree. The air was thick with the power of untold secrets and the palpable presence of cosmic struggles between ancient deities and their modern usurpers.

'The system wouldn't tell me to escape if it was impossible. There is a way. I'm sure of it. I won't die here.'

The procession stilled, the river calmed, and before Klade and the mysterious inhabitants of this otherworldly realm, the corrupted Tree of Ember loomed—a testament to a battle between hope and despair, chained yet undying, surrounded by guardians whose loyalties and purposes were masked as securely as their visages. And at that silent, haunting moment, the raspy voice beside Klade seemed like the faint whisper of legend against the backdrop of an impending storm. The canoes gently touched the waters before this sinister sentinel, the journey pausing at the precipice of revelation and dread.

Amidst the turbulent backdrop of the corrupted Ember Tree, shrouded in its weave of shadows and flickering light, a spectacular throne emerged. Glowing with an ethereal, unearthly white light, it commanded absolute attention. Seated upon this majestic throne was an old woman, known in whispers and legends as Glefnir. Her presence was as commanding as it was serene, adorned in a long white robe trimmed with dancing flames of the same ghostly white at its hem. Glefnir's hair, short and storm-tossed grayish white, framed a visage marked by intense, dark purple eyes. In her left hand, she wielded a large scythe, glowing with the same piercing whiteness as her throne, a stark symbol of her dominion.

'Whoa..'

As the canoes and their precious cargo came to a halt before the darkened monument of the tree, Glefnir rose slowly from her throne. The embodiment of death who guarded her throne—terrifying entities robed in black sackcloth, their skeletal forms bearing scythes and crowned by horns that erupted from their eye sockets—parted to create a path for her. With each deliberate step, the air around her thickened, pressure mounting in the heavy atmosphere. Raising her scythe high, she channeled a profound energy through it, commanding a manipulation of essence and fate.

A spectral wind began to swirl around the base of the Ember Tree, its currents picking up speed and intensity. With a sweeping gesture upward from Glefnir, all those who had journeyed down the blood river in the canoes were lifted from their vessels. They rose in the air, their bodies suspended as if strings from the heavens tugged at their very souls, guiding them to ascend towards the canopy of the dark and ominous tree.

"We can't pretend anymore, can we?"

Klade turned to the left, seeing the mysterious man.

Klade said, "You're…"

Yet, among them, a select few remained unmoved by Glefnir's sorcery. These were the dozens, even hundreds who'd been previously blessed by the Ember Tree, immune to her summoning. They stood steadfast upon the waters below, a silent testament to prior allegiances and blessings. Klade, marked by Elma's eerie gift, found himself among this number, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and inevitability.

"Tch!" Klade gritted his teeth at Glefnir.

'Who is she? She resembled that royal family!'

Breaking the tense silence, Glefnir's voice resonated clear and powerful, yet tinged with a personal ache as she spoke. "It's been a long time, husband."

From the multitude on the water emerged a figure who responded with equal gravity. Revealed as Elgard the Wise, the mysterious man who had guided Klade's understanding thus far stood tall and imposing. His muscular build was marked by visible scars, telling tales of many battles. His dark hair was kept in a braided ponytail, and a black crown fashioned from twigs rested upon his head. Clad in fur pants and boots, with a dense black beard framing his stern features, Elgard's dark blue eyes met Glefnir's with a mix of sorrow and reproach.

"So you've chosen to side with Rothgar no matter what," he stated, his voice a rumble of disappointment and resigned anger.

Klade, standing beside Elgard, said, "What the hell is happening?

Elgard replied, "Rothgar is my son. And that is his mother."

"What…"

'He mentioned his family earlier, but didn't give names. To think he's the parent of the one I'm going to kill…'

The revelation that Elgard and Glefnir were in fact the parents of Rothgar added layers of tragedy and complexity to Klade's mental, a familial drama playing out against the backdrop of cosmic struggle and divine machinations. The assembly on the water, and those still suspended in the air above the Ember Tree were but a stage for an ancient conflict of allegiances, betrayals, and the harsh dichotomies of power.

As the tension thickened, the surreal tableau at the base of the Ember Tree hinted at deeper sagas yet untold, leaving all parties ensnared in the larger destiny of gods, mortals, and the cursed landscapes they battled to control. The moment resonated with an oppressive weight, promising that the unfolding drama was far from over.